


Stormy Seas

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Series: February Ficlet Challenge 2018 [19]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 10:51:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13739334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: Clara Oswald falls into the hands of notorious pirate Captain Storm. But who is manipulating whom?Pairing: Twelfth Doctor/Clara OswaldPrompt: Pirate AU





	Stormy Seas

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by imaginary_golux.

“Now, before I dispose of the rest of you,” the pirate captain barked at the huddled survivors of his latest capture, “are there any of you who have handled a sword in anger?” One defiant hand thrust up from the crowd. He blinked as he looked down; the hand was attached to a spritely brunette. _You, really?_ He asked with his eyes.

 _Yeah, me,_ she glared back. _You wanna make something of it?_

He shrugged, concluding their unspoken conversation with, _fine, but when you run screaming back to your governess after your first battle, don’t say I didn’t warn you._ “Right, somebody get Tiny some proper clothes and a cutlass. Martha, Amy, throw anyone who we might ransom in the brig. Donna, Rory, get the rest of these landlubbers back on their ship. The rest of you lot, back to your duties.” His orders were met with a flurry of voices, all crisply replying “Aye-aye, Cap’n Storm.”

“Oi! My name is Clara. Clara Oswald. Not that that would mean anything to a man using such an obvious pseudonym, _Captain Storm_. Honestly.”

“My apologies, madame.” He swept into a deep bow, his velvet coat flaring behind him. “Somebody get tiny Clara Oswald a weapon and some better clothes.” His crew roared with laughter, and in that moment, Clara made her vow: she was going to become the finest pirate to ever sail.

“Welcome to a life of piracy!” A young black woman greeted her with an immense smile. Clara liked her at once. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Bill Potts, ship’s cook. This is Nardole, the master of our cannons. And this is my matey, Heather. Sort of our unofficial quartermaster.”

“Which means I’ll be the one kitting you out.” She flicked mismatched eyes over Clara’s body. “I think we should have some breeches and a spare jacket that’ll fit you. Come on belowdecks and let’s get you out of that torn dress.” She winked at Bill. “Purely platonically, of course.”

Eyed up by the ship’s sapphic quartermaster was not how Clara had planned on starting a career of crime, but the young woman had an eye for detail, and an hour later, Clara was confident that, even if everything else went tits up, at very least she would be feeding the fishes in all her rakish glory.

Rakish glory was about the furthest thing from her mind later that night as she stood her watch, eyes searching for any trace of movement, light, or land. A gravelly voice interrupted her. “How was your first day, _Ms. Oswald_?”

“Well enough, _Captain Storm_ ,” she replied, matching the scorn placed on her own name. 

He moved to stand beside her at the railing, his eyes lost on the horizon. “It’s John. John Capaldi. You need only call me Storm before people who are not part of our crew.”

“Very well, John.” She smiled despite herself--the idea of such a mundane name for such a fearsome pirate. “So, why are you here instead of sleeping in your nice warm cabin?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Wanted to make sure you were keeping watch adequately.”

“And?” He nodded sharply in response. “Good.”

“What about you? What brings a fair maid like you to a life of crime?”

“Like you gave me much choice.”

“In case you didn’t notice, I let the rest of my captives go.”

“Kind of you.”

He turned away from her. “Sensible. If word gets out that I always kill everyone, then every ship I find will fight to the last man. On the other hand, if I just plunder the ship, most of the civilians will surrender. Untrained rabble, but all it takes is a lucky blow with a knife or a hatchet, and you’re down a finger.”

“Sensible,” she admitted, envisioning herself landing such a lucky blow. “Wait,” she whispered. “I see something.”

“Quench the lights,” he hissed. Two snaps of his fingers summoned the rest of the night watch to him. “Mickey, ready a dinghy and a boarding party. Journey, rouse the rest of the crew.” He turned back to Clara. “That’s a fat merchant, and she hasn’t seen us.” He outlined his plan as they went to the dinghy. “We’ll board, kill the guards quickly and quietly, and take the captain prisoner. With any luck, he’ll surrender without a fight and we’ll be rich without firing a shot.” His eager grin vanished as he snuffed the lantern. “Ready to put your blade to use?” whispered the shadows.

“You never did tell me why you wanted to join my crew. The real reason,” he amended, before she could tell him another lie.

“Vengeance,” she blurted out.

He nodded consideringly. “That’ll do. Do you know how to slit a throat?” he asked, changing the topic like it was of little consequence. “Tilt the head forward--it brings the Adam’s apple in, and then a single slash, nice and deep, to get the carotid, larynx, and jugular. Can’t cry out, and they’ll bleed out by the time they hit the deck.” She pictured the movements in her mind’s eye, and nodded. “And then you regret having to do it.”

“Like you said, better to kill a few sentries than fight the entire crew.”

“Not better for the sentries.” He leaned back. “And, I think, perhaps not better for you.” He cut off further protest with a finger to his thin lips as they neared the merchant ship.

Mickey steered them into place as Amy silently swung a grappling hook up and into place. Clara followed the others up, drawing her dagger as she reached the upper deck. She crept around the edge, John beside her, then pulling her into the lee of a barrel as a guard approached. Wordlessly, he clubbed the man over his head. _So much for slitting throats_ , she mouthed. 

He only shrugged as they made their way to the captain’s quarters. There is a heart in there, she guessed, and swallowed her secret before it could betray her.

The next months passed in much the same way, until Clara trusted each of the crew like family. Including the captain, despite the distance he seemed determined to place between them. 

Another particularly fine capture resulted in a celebration of their plunder, and at the head of it all, the captain himself, having produced a guitar from god knows where, leading the crew in song and dance until the fires burned low. Clara took a few things--clothes mostly, and a bit of gold. She wasn’t entitled to much more as the junior member of the crew, but she hardly minded. She looked around, from Bill and Heather cuddling on a coil of rope, to Martha telling stories with a mug of grog in her hand. But the notorious Captain Storm had vanished.

She slipped away herself and found him in his cabin. Plucking up every dram of courage--much of it liquid--she slunk downstairs and picked through her loot. The white pajamas? No, too much. The black silk dress and gloves, all tight and sleek? Better. She changed swiftly and stole back upstairs, dodging Amy and Rory as they stumbled down to their hammock. 

“You aren’t still partying?” She stood over him, sprawled in an armchair. 

“Neither are you.” He replied and sized her up.

“I never did tell you why wanted to become a pirate.” He tilted his head to the side. _Continue._ “My fiance was a marine. His ship was taken by the _Oakdown_. He...didn’t survive.”

“And you want revenge on his killer? You know both Missy and I are both privateers for the Gallifreyan Navy.”

“I wanted revenge. That was why I joined.” She stepped closer to him. “That wasn’t why I stayed.” She hovered over him like a thunderhead, the shadow of her filling pupils blown full in the dim light. 

“I don’t want you to regret--” a black-gloved finger silenced him. 

“I know _exactly_ what I want, John,” she murmured, willing him to stretch up his hand and touch her. 

He obliged, pulling down her tensed lips to a kiss that broke the front between them. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he confessed as she hastily unbuttoned his shirt. 

“I can tell,” she teased, freeing his cock. “I’m flattered.”

His hand slid down her body, feeling firm muscle move beneath sheer, sweaty fabric. She nodded as he hitched it up, finding nothing beneath but dark curls and wetness beneath. She gasped as he entered her. “No,” she pleaded as he froze. “Been a while, is all.” She tugged her dress over her head. “For Christ’s sake, don’t stop.” The lanterns cast flickering light on her body as she bobbed up and down, nipples peaked in the cool evening air, crashing over him like a tempest.

The next morning found her curled up in his coat, sore and sated. “You know, Captain Storm is just a title. One I inherited from a slip of a boy, my predecessor.” He buttoned his shirt and cuffs. “I was thinking of passing it down to my mate, Whittaker.” 

Clara nodded. She’d be a fine choice. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I was thinking of retiring...and taking you with me. What do you say? I have an estate set away, and a private boat, big enough for two if you want to explore.” He held her eyes. “Please, don’t even argue.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” she replied, and kissed him to seal the pact. 

**Author's Note:**

> The Oakdown is Missy's ship. The passing down of the Captain Storm title is, of course, inspired by the Princess Bride and the Dread Pirate Roberts. And yes, that is definitely the Orient Express dress.


End file.
